Rack 'Em
The house itself was in west Texas and was so similar to all the others that the details were blurry. Two bedrooms one bath a kitchen and about twenty feet of undefined space that would have been designated as an “open floor plan.” What made it special was that the previous tenants, or maybe even the ones before, that had decided to plunk a pool table in the middle of what probably should have served as a dining space.
When Dad came home with stuff to stock the kitchen that night, he’d brought chalk, balls, a rack and three cues. Dean fell in love.
Sam was ten and kept staring at the thing even as dad showed Dean a few basics. John took a step back, standing next to Sam. “It’s good for hand eye coordination, and it’s fun.” Sam tilted his head in the other direction, still considering it. John leaned down and whispered then. “It also helps with geometry but don’t tell your brother.” Sam laughed.
Dean looked up and both John and Sam took a cue. They spent the rest of the spring, while Sam finished the fourth grade, in that house.
Dad would come home, twist the cap off a bottle of beer, hand each of his boys a soda and they’d discuss the intricacies of grade school politics, junior high school girls and their weird thing with giggling and sometimes the difference between a ghost and a spirit, a zombie and a ghoul.
John would help them line up shots. Mention when they were developing bad habits. “Dean, lower your shoulder, you’re relying too much on those trick shots, it’ll get you into trouble.” It was the same way he coached their sparring but you can’t talk and spar at the same time.
A lot of men learn to play pool. Looking at their lives, it was a given that Sam and Dean would learn to play, and eventually be better than good. Surprisingly, they could both agree that those lessons were some of the best times of their life.